Than let philosophic cowards keep us in this stygian night.
Locksley Hall has now a master who would claim the earth for all,
Who would make the titled idler cease to rob his tenant-thrall;
Wreck the Church and State if need be (better such in time will rise),
But who from this glorious purpose nevermore will turn his eyes—
Never, till the arms of nature clasp in joy her outcast child,
Long since driven from the meadow and the dell and woodland wild,
Till to each belongs the produce of his hand and heart and brain,
And glad heralds of millennium thrill along our path of pain.
Though the world has piled its fagots round the great and good and brave;